


Time, Love and Tenderness

by TheMoments (TBs_LMC)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Bandits & Outlaws, Battlefield, Battlemage, Begging, Canon-Typical Violence, Darkspawn, Declarations Of Love, Explanations, Fenris Is Slowly Learning, Getting Back Together, Healers, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), M/M, Mages (Dragon Age), Mercenaries, Near Death, Nice Anders, Not Canon Compliant, Past Character Death, Sebastian Vale Is MaleMageHawkris' Best Friend, Sweet, Templars (Dragon Age), Tenderness, The Gallows (Dragon Age), True Love, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29692488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TBs_LMC/pseuds/TheMoments
Summary: Battlemage Hawke brings many new and wondrous experiences into the world of a former slave. Fenris invites you to see what he considers the most important four.
Relationships: Anders & Male Hawke (Dragon Age), Fenris & Sebastian Vael, Fenris/Male Hawke, Hawke & Sebastian Vael, Hawke & Varric Tethras
Kudos: 9





	Time, Love and Tenderness

**Author's Note:**

> Much of this story could have happened up until you get to what occurs surrounding Meredith, so you can enjoy some canon dialog but it will be skewed from the game.

**TIME, LOVE AND TENDERNESS**

* * *

**THE FIRST TIME**

Fenris had never seen a mage do the things Hawke did. He’d never witnessed such…he would perhaps call it tenderness…from the hands of _any_ mage. Though he had watched Anders healing patients from time to time when they’d ventured to his clinic for one reason or another, Fenris was rarely able to get over his fear of and distaste for a man who seemed to be fundamentally predisposed to hate him with equal fervor, to appreciate any damn thing about him. Or perhaps it was simply that he knew beneath the so-called charming exterior that Anders showed the world, he was actually an abomination.

No, it had nothing to do with the fact that Anders threw himself at Hawke. Be silent, Isabela.

His mind strayed back to Hawke. Hands that he’d seen cast terrifying fireballs and freeze people to solid blocks of ice could also mend broken bones, torn muscles, wide open slices in abdomens as recently as two weeks ago. He wondered if Sebastian had a scar.

Fenris would never forget the first time he’d joined the companions on one of their jobs. It’d been he, Merrill, Varric and Hawke on the Wounded Coast looking for mercenaries that a certain prince of Starkhaven had put out a bounty on. Back then, Fenris still wielded Lethendralis, the weapon given him by Danarius with which to defend him back in his days of servitude. It was comfortable in his hands. The grip, well-worn and suited to the shape of his fingers.

Both Hawke and Merrill had recently obtained new staves forged by means that mystified Fenris now as much as back in Tevinter. He thought perhaps one day he might ask Hawke how they came to be. Varric, of course, fondled his Bianca with some measure of oddity, but who was Fenris to judge another for his adoration of strange things given that the elf liked having crow feathers on his armor?

The mercenaries themselves hadn’t really been that big a deal. The problem had been the Tal-Vashoth who, alerted by the sounds of battle over the next rise, had come to see what the fuss was about and had decided that all the _basra_ present needed to die. What had begun as Hawke & Co. vs. Flint Company had turned into Hawke & Flint & Co. vs. Tal-Vashoth, and none of Flint had survived.

Qunari and their outcasts were creatures Fenris was wholly familiar with and should’ve seen coming with his eyes closed. He blamed it on the fact that he’d quite literally never fought with two mages in attendance before, only just Hawke the night they’d gone after Danarius in the Hightown mansion. He also blamed it on the fact that he was having trouble figuring out where Varric was at any given point because of all the smoke created by Hawke’s fireball storm. He was, after all, a bit new to this group thing.

Fireballs raining from the ceiling. Ah, yes. Which had also scared the lyrium right out of his skin at first until it was explained to him that the whole entire point of a true battlemage was in first casting a protective spell for those you _didn’t_ want harmed, and then immediately casting the spell that would take out those you _did_.

Which was also why Hawke always had to limit the number of companions with him to three, else he’d drain his mana trying to protect more than that. Leaving him unable to cast multiple spells in a row against a single protection spell laid down first upon those he referred to as ‘his.’

It’d had been a steep learning curve that first night in Hightown, but Fenris was catching on. That didn’t mean it wasn’t still a hair-raising experience.

But in the moment of that battle on the Wounded Coast, his eyes had been diverted from his immediate target of three mercenaries by Varric backflipping as he fired a five-shot burst of flaming bolts from his crossbow. Right in front of him. Then whizzing backwards past his shoulder. That would have distracted anyone.

It had the effect of turning his eyes left just long enough that a karasaad charged Fenris from the right, and only the melee fighter’s roar of battle alerted him. Just in time for him to lithely twist his body away from both the karasaad and the one merc that hadn’t yet fallen to his greatsword. Only he hadn’t gotten far enough back out of the way, and the very sharp tip of Karasaad’s right horn sliced Fenris’s arm from elbow to shoulder, straight through his armor and with a sound that made his stomach churn.

Varric took the giant out with a single bolt right between the eyes and Hawke froze the final merc, which Fenris took an angry swing at and shattered. Lethendralis fell to the sand as Fenris felt a buzzing in his ears. He sank to his knees, left hand grabbing his right arm, wondering just how wounded it was. He heard Merrill’s exclamations in her Dalish tongue, which he didn’t understand, followed by Varric’s, “Hang on, elf.” The dwarf then barking, “Hawke, Fenris is down!” was what got the elf’s attention.

Without any idea how the mage had moved so fast, suddenly Hawke was on his knees next to him, gently prying his fingers away from his arm. When Fenris tried to bat him away, Hawke forced his eyes to meet his and that, Fenris was fairly certain, was the exact moment he fell for the mage. There was something…intimate in that gaze. In the way Hawke still held Fenris’s left hand in spite of the spiked gloves. Brown eyes were soft, yet strong. Hesitant, yet certain. He knew he could fix it, Fenris realized, but he was silently asking for permission because he knew how Fenris felt. About mages. About magic. About touching. And…about blood being anywhere near magic at all.

Fenris, in that moment, trusted Hawke like no other. He’d never be able to explain it beyond things that he couldn’t hope to wrap his mind around, and so he simply nodded once and continued to watch Hawke’s face while the mage concentrated on the profusely bleeding arm that Fenris nearly forgot was his own.

His eyes moved down to where Hawke used his left hand to gently hold his arm at the elbow, angled away from his side. Then his right hand began sweeping just above his flesh from elbow to shoulder and back, a whitish-blue glow coming from his palm and enveloping Fenris’s entire arm. It stung and he hissed. “I’m sorry, Fenris, but it is going to hurt some,” he said in a soft voice Fenris had never heard him use before.

This was a new Hawke he’d never met. This was Hawke the Healer, who began a litany of what some might consider platitudes, but Fenris knew instinctively that it wasn’t the words that were important, but the cadence and pitch of the voice uttering them. It soothed his nerves and while he was peripherally aware of the arm hurting, he wasn’t writhing in pain as he feared he might. At least there would be no embarrassing tales to tell of this.

“…and you’ll come to discover that while Anders is very good at whole body healing and difficult medical problems and can patch anyone up well enough in the field, battleground healing is something I have excelled at since my father first helped me discover my talents.”

Intrigued, Fenris studied Hawke’s profile as he continued his ministrations and his words.

“You see, something you will never understand is what it feels like to wake up one day and be able to do something that the man you idolize can also do. How exciting it is, how much you can’t wait to show it off, only to be told that if you do you will likely be taken away from your parents in chains.” Hawke smiled softly, left hand shifting up to cup under Fenris’s bicep.

“When you’re only seven years aged, the prospect of never seeing your mother and father again, little sister and little brother and the happy home you have, well, it’s a very scary thing. And so slowly you begin to know that you are different, and you are special, but that means you’re not like anyone else and cannot pretend to be. And what people cannot do, cannot control, they are afraid of. And what they are afraid of they want to be rid of. And that makes them see those with magical gifts as monsters rather than real people.”

Hawke gently released Fenris’s arm and the elf had the irrational urge to get into another fight and get hurt so Hawke would continue.

“There. That should do it. Though it wouldn’t hurt to confirm the stitching job I did with Anders. That was a fairly deep cut, you know.” And with that, Hawke rose to his feet and joined Merrill in looting the bodies and chests and crates that the dead mercs and Tal-Vashoth had left behind.

As Fenris rose to his feet, he became aware that Varric was still standing next to him. “What was that?” the elf found himself asking as he picked up his greatsword, dusted the sand from it as best he could and lodged it into place against his back.

“What was what?” Varric asked, wiping Bianca down with her special oiled rag.

“That…talking he was doing while healing me.”

“Oh, that’s how you get to know Hawke best,” Varric replied as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “Get hurt enough and eventually you’ll find out everything you ever wanted to know about him.” Varric grinned and winked, re-holstered Bianca and went to help with the looting.

Fenris knew this said something disturbing about him in so many ways, but suddenly he was really looking forward to getting hurt during battle again.

 _Venhedis_.

* * *

**THE SECOND TIME**

Anders went down with a yelp that made even Fenris’ heart pound, regardless how he felt about the man. He let out a war cry and charged at the Hurlock that had just felled the mage with his sword. In a fast whirlwind, Fenris took down that creature, two genlocks and three undead as they’d begun crowding around Anders to have their way with him.

A thought that made Fenris shudder as he yelled, “Hawke! Anders down!” and took up fighting stance to protect a felled comrade.

How Hawke had changed his entire being over a period of two years.

“At least,” Anders rasped, “it was me they got.” He coughed and blood flew from his mouth. The momentary look of abject horror that crossed his face told Fenris none of this was good. “They can’t hurt a tainted man,” he rasped, smiling faintly as his head lolled to the side. He quickly lost consciousness.

Hawke was just suddenly _there_ like he’d blinked into existence. “Hold them off for me,” he said to Fenris.

With a curt nod, Fenris hollered, “Seb, cover fire!”

“On it!” Sebastian yelled from some twenty feet away.

Sebastian’s pool of arrows felled several darkspawn while Fenris maxed out his lyrium, felt the pain searing through his body as he ripped through those that remained, roaring his rage at the absolute gall they showed in attacking someone like Hawke, wanting to kill the one good thing that existed in Fenris’ life. Well…the _top_ good thing. Sebastian was his friend, too. And Varric.

As he and Sebastian finished off the stragglers, it was the second time that Fenris found himself mesmerized by the sight of Hawke’s battlefield healing. He was on his knees behind Anders. He’d pulled the mage so he was mostly upright with his back against Hawke’s thighs and torso. Hawke’s left hand was splayed over Anders’ chest while his right hand cradled his head as though it were the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

Tears sprang unbidden to Fenris’ eyes at the combined look of grief and sheer concentration on Hawke’s face. His voice was thick with emotion as a strong blue light, with barely any white in it, enveloped Anders’ head and chest.

“And do you remember when you healed me?” Hawke was asking his unconscious friend. “That time when those cave spiders overwhelmed us. We were so unprepared for them to drop from the ceiling and you were worried that Varric would get cocooned and spirited away before we could blink just because he’s small.” Hawke managed a weighted chuckle. “I threw myself between him and four spiders, up went the ice wall and right onto my head from above came a wasp queen.” Hawke’s breath hitched. “What a bitch she was.”

The blue light of Hawke’s magic began to fade. Sebastian quickly searched Hawke’s belt, but he’d already gone through his lyrium potions. It was only then that Fenris remembered his own built-in supply. Danarius had infused his skin with the magical substance that his body automatically renewed, recharged and replenished thanks to whatever it was that had also been injected into his body.

Fenris was, quite literally, made to do exactly what Hawke needed right now. And so without a sound he bolted to the space behind Hawke’s crouched form, reached forward and placed his hands palm-flat on each of Hawke’s exposed forearms, scooting up until he was practically molded to the mage’s shape.

Hawke breathed a sigh of relief as Fenris turned on his lyrium and it flowed visibly into the mage, in turn transmuting into Hawke’s healing magic and flowing into Anders. It never occurred to Fenris at the time that he was helping a rival stay alive. It only occurred to him that he was helping Hawke do what Hawke did. And perhaps saving him from some heartache in the process.

Which made Fenris’ heart ache in a way, but that was the second time he was able to confirm that he’d fallen for Hawke. Because even if it meant that Hawke wanted Anders over him, it didn’t matter to Fenris…as long as Hawke was happy and alive.

If that wasn’t love, he reasoned, what in hell was?

At last Anders stirred. He looked to his left, noticed Fenris’ marked hand on Hawke’s arm, frowned, looked up and back at Hawke, smiled, and then saw Sebastian staring at all three of them from where he’d seated himself upon a crumbled pillar.

“I always hated the Deep Roads,” Anders croaked.

“Anders,” Hawke breathed, magic receding.

Fenris felt it go and it felt like a great big hollow nothing. He didn’t like that feeling. He wanted it to feel like a great big something, which was how it’d felt the entire time he’d been laying against Hawke’s back, touching him, giving of himself so freely and easily as though this was something he’d done all his life.

In a way, he guessed, it was, for that was how Danarius had used him, to be sure. And yet this had been _Fenris_ ’ choice to offer, not a master demanding, forcing. Fenris peeled himself away and rose to his feet, knees and back protesting as he moved to join Sebastian on the busted pillar.

Hawke got up, his knees also quite obviously giving him grief for remaining in that one position on a stone floor for way too long, and then helped Anders to his feet. Anders was unsteady at first and clung to Hawke perhaps a little more and a little longer than was strictly necessary. But he’d almost died, and Hawke had saved his life, so Fenris knew that gratitude was very much in order.

But he had to look away when the healer embraced Hawke as part of said gratitude.

“What you did, Fenris, was nothing short of amazing,” Sebastian offered softly. Fenris really did enjoy the man’s lilting speech and almost hypnotic voice, and met his eyes.

“I did what my master made me to do,” he deflected.

“You did what your heart bade you do,” Seb corrected.

“You are always so maddeningly determined to make my motivations out to be purer than they are,” Fenris growled.

“Not at all. Merely determined to ensure you begin to understand that your motivations belong to you and you alone. No longer do they serve any master, Fenris, for you are a free man and have proven that here today yet again with your selfless actions.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Hawke stated, startling Fenris to his feet. Anders was nowhere in sight and Hawke must have caught the elf’s momentary confusion for he next said, “He’s gone to relieve himself.” Then, noting Fenris’ discomfort added, “I would never have asked you to do what you did no matter who it was meant to help.”

“I know.”

Hawke smiled softly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Hawke and Fenris stared at each other, and Fenris felt himself falling into depths of brown as though they were pools of honeyed water or perhaps sweetest poison, for he wanted nothing more than to drown inside whatever he might find there.

Hawke’s smile made Fenris’ face feel hot. “I have to admit that was pretty damn cool.”

Fenris huffed out a laugh, rubbed the back of his neck and noted Anders returning to them. “We should move on,” he stated gruffly.

“Thank you,” Anders said to him as he turned to continue their trek.

Fenris stopped. Fought with himself over how to respond, if at all. Knowing Hawke was _right there_ and not wishing to belittle whatever feelings he held for Anders, Fenris growled, “You’re welcome,” and headed resolutely toward the path they’d been walking when attacked.

“I can’t believe he was that willing to help me,” Fenris heard Anders say.

To which Sebastian replied, “He didn’t do it for you.”

It was quiet for a good, long while after that, for which Fenris was grateful indeed.

* * *

**THE THIRD TIME**

Fenris felt the blade go straight through his gut, shocked that he was still standing after the templar pulled his greatsword out and raised it above his head for the death blow. That familiar buzz of injury was back in the elf’s head, crowding out his ability to hear what was happening around him. He heard Hawke let out a war cry that chilled him to the bone as he wondered what had happened to cause the mage to do so.

He went to his knees, Isabela emerging from shadows with knives twirling. Blood flew past his line of sight just as a barrier encircled him, the templar’s greatsword falling upon it and clanging uselessly, pulling a squawk of surprise from him as Sebastian made a kill shot that went straight through the man’s heart.

The Blade of Mercy went dark as Fenris doubled forward. There was no pain, strangely enough. There was regret. Not fear so much as hesitation. What would he find when his spirit left his body? Would he truly go to the Maker as Sebastian insisted? Or were his deeds throughout his killing rampages enough to send him to the very Void itself?

And that was when Hawke entered the magical barrier he’d created, falling to his knees before Fenris, taking his face in his hands, looking into his eyes with unabashed fear. So much water had gone under the bridge. So much left unsaid between them. Fenris had never apologized for what he’d done, walking out on Garrett like that, the morning after their first and only time together. And yet Garrett had continued to have him along on nearly every outing between then and now.

But Fenris found he couldn’t speak to apologize. And so he hoped his eyes would tell the tale as darkness crept into the edges of his vision, pushing toward the face of the man he loved as if to tear him from Fenris’ gaze once and for all.

“Get Anders!” he heard Hawke bellow, but Fenris knew it was too late.

“You can heal him,” Sebastian insisted.

“I…don’t have…” Hawke came close enough to be nose to nose with Fenris, thumbs smoothing along his cheeks. “Please, Maker above, please don’t leave me.”

Fenris’ hand managed to rise long enough to grasp Hawke’s wrist. Garrett noticed the red fabric tied round it. Let out a sob of recognition.

“I love you,” Hawke begged. “That ribbon means you…you can’t…I’m yours. You have to keep me.”

“You can do this, Hawke,” Sebastian insisted. “Draw on the lyrium from within Fenris and you can heal him.” The archer rose to his full height. “I will see to it that you’re not disturbed.”

Hawke nodded, maneuvered himself and Fenris gently so that Hawke was seated with his back against a wall there in the Gallows cradling Fenris like a child, the elf’s head resting on his shoulder, while Hawke’s left hand hovered over the wound created by the greatsword, almost dead center in Fenris’ abdomen.

“Stay with me,” Hawke pleaded as magic poured from his body. Fenris felt his lyrium flare without him doing anything to encourage it, and knew that it was flowing into Hawke to help him heal. “You have to stay with me because I am not done with you yet,” the mage insisted. “You’re not done with _me_ yet.”

Fenris knew his jaw was slack. There was enough awareness to realize he couldn’t move a muscle, his eyes glued to Hawke’s where he’d turned his head to look at him full on, and Hawke’s face telling him all he needed to know. Concentration the likes of which he’d never seen. Shouts rising from all around as an apostate openly practiced magic in the Gallows Courtyard surrounded by Templars and all Fenris could think was that even if he lived, Meredith would make Hawke tranquil in a heartbeat, and he couldn’t bear even thinking of that.

But nothing he thought made it outside of his mind, even as a jab of pain made him sputter, cough, blood spewing from his mouth to cover Hawke’s face, hair, chest, Fenris’ body. Suddenly Cullen was in his line of sight and Fenris watched in shock as the Templar opened a draught of lyrium and forced Hawke to swallow the entire bottle. Fenris’ body flared bright blue and he coughed again, more blood, phlegm, gross bodily fluids he couldn’t name going everywhere.

Cullen’s face appeared again. He grasped Fenris’ limp right hand. Hawke doubled down, lit up almost as brightly as Fenris, the two of them swathed in blue, turning Cullen blue, Sebastian coming to stand near Fenris’ legs with his bow drawn and an arrow cocked and aimed outward, saying something that Fenris couldn’t make out for the blood rushing in his ears.

 _I love you_ , whispered in his mind and his eyes darted to Hawke’s, which were boring holes into his skull with an intensity Fenris had never seen before. _I love you, Fenris. Live. If not for yourself, then for me._

A tear trickled out of Fenris’ eye. There was an explosion nearby. Cullen dropped his hand and ran, barking orders. Sebastian disappeared as well. Hawke never wavered. His eyes never left the elf’s. Another jab of pain in his middle. Hawke whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s all my fault, I’m so sorry,” over and over and over again.

Fenris knew why he thought that. Hawke flaunted his magehood at the Gallows at least once a week, running here and there to the vendors or to see Meredith or just to stop by and say hello to Cullen, with whom he’d forged a friendship despite Cullen’s stance on mages. He knew Fenris liked Cullen, too, and had always thought part of it was giving Fenris an excuse to make a new friend whose ideas he could agree with, unlike most of the people Hawke hung out with.

But on this trip, Meredith’s people had been lying in wait, though it would be difficult for anyone to prove they’d been acting under her orders. “Remember what she said,” one of the six Templars who’d attached Hawke, Varric, Sebastian and Fenris had said as they leapt out of the early morning shadows, “Hawke must die. The others are incidental.”

That had sent Fenris into a rage, and Hawke had immediately rained fireballs down from the sky and thrown a protective barrier over them all. Which had promptly been canceled by four of the six templars, and Hawke had gone down, Fenris losing his mind on the two nearest ones, failing to see the third lunge from ten feet away.

Slowly Fenris felt his body finally start stitching back together. The pain was intense, but he gritted his teeth as all at once another face appeared to his right. This time it was Anders. He was asking a ton of questions and Hawke was answering and suddenly Anders’ hands were glowing and pulling and pushing and stretching along with Hawke’s, but Hawke looked as if he were about to fall sideways and Fenris knew his own lyrium supply was almost depleted. There was Cullen again out of nowhere, forcing another bottle of lyrium potion down Hawke’s throat, followed by an elfroot potion and then Hawke was back in the game.

Cullen turned and took a defensive stance, barking orders again and then the words started becoming clearer as the blood stopped buzzing against the inside of Fenris’ head.

“…lockdown immediately. I want Meredith brought out here _now_ if you have to fucking _carry_ her out here!” Cullen sounded as though he wanted to body-slam whoever he was ordering around. He sounded the kind of angry Fenris had never heard from the soft-spoken man before. He was rather impressed, actually, and managed a lopsided smile as Anders’ hands stop glowing and he sat back on his heels, and as Hawke’s hands stopped glowing and sweat dripped from his temples, down his neck, beaded on his forehead.

“Fen,” Hawke breathed, clearly exhausted. He leaned forward and wrapped both his arms around Fenris. Though weak, Fenris found he could at last move his limbs and as such returned the gesture, right hand sliding around the back of Hawke’s neck, left pulling from between their bodies and wrapping around his shoulder as Hawke slowly rocked him back and forth.

“Please tell me you’re okay,” Hawke breathed in his ear. “I can’t bear to lose you, too.”

Hawke had only just recently lost his mother. Before that, Carver to the taint. Before that, his sister to darkspawn. Before that, his father, in unknown circumstances. He literally had no blood family left but Gamlen, which was basically like having none.

“I love you,” Hawke whispered.

Fenris pulled away, placed his bloody hand against Hawke’s cheek and met his tear-filled eyes. “I’m alive thanks to you.” He smiled. “And I love you, too.”

“Well,” came the slightly nasal, loudly sarcastic and putridly condescending voice of Knight-Commander Meredith, “isn’t this _touching_. Two apostates practicing unsanctioned magic and a lyrium-infused slave delivered right to my doorstep. Thank you, Cullen.”

Hawke tensed. Anders opened his mouth to say something that would no doubt cause even more trouble. Fenris had had enough. He leapt from Hawke’s grasp directly to his feet, hopped to Cullen’s right side with a wince as his belly protested, and seethed, “Your precious fucking Templars just tried to _kill us_.”

“Nonsense. If Templars attacked you then they shall be tried and punished according to our laws.”

“No,” Fenris shook his head. “ _You_ will be held accountable. Right now.”

“Knight-Commander, it is my duty as Knight-Captain to inform you that you are being relieved of command pending a hearing into the accusations made by no less than ten individuals who witnessed the attack upon Serrah Hawke and his friends.”

“Hawke is an apostate!” Meredith screeched, drawing her sword. She pointed it directly at the mage, still seated on the ground. In his weakened state, Garrett could not put up the defense he normally would have. Anders rose to his feet, the Blade of Mercy coming up with him. He handed it to Fenris, much to his surprise.

“Knight-Commander,” Cullen said with a voice of steel as he drew his sword against his commanding officer, “relinquish your weapon and prepare to be taken to a holding cell to await your hearing.”

Meredith realized quite quickly that Sebastian had an arrow trained right between her eyes, the dwarf had one aimed at her heart, the white-haired elf had just lit up his sword and the blond mage already had blue lights in his palms ready to strike.

“You will _pay_ for this,” she growled at the lot of them. Turning to the thirty or so Templars who’d formed something of a semi-circle around her, she yelled, “Arrest everyone in this courtyard, Cullen included. He is stripped of his rank immediately and—”

She didn’t manage to get another word out. Fenris lunged, lyrium sizzling blue, lighting up his entire body to the maximum it was capable – which right now wasn’t even enough to penetrate skin – and darted forward, swiping at her sword. To everyone’s shock, it shattered from his pure blue lyrium touching it…because her sword was made from none other than _red_ lyrium.

“Maker’s hairy arse, it’s Bartrand’s idol!” Varric breathed, moving quickly to gather the pieces up in a cloth sack he had on his person for looting.

Cullen stepped forward, sword pointed at Meredith’s chest. “Take her into custody _now_.” A female templar complied, moving forward to tie Meredith’s hands behind her back. When she began struggling, three more Templars moved in and then two City Guards. At last they had her contained, though she was shrieking at the top of her lungs and struggling mightily against her captors…who just moments ago had been her very own men.

A cheer rose on the steps leading to the Circle and as Fenris and Sebastian helped Hawke to his feet, Anders smiled hugely. “It’s the mages,” he said, voice laden with the turmoil of emotions running through him in the moment. “You’ve freed them from her tyranny. And all because one of her men…ran Fenris through with a sword?”

Cullen turned to look at Hawke and his friends. Hawke stepped up unsteadily, and Cullen reached out with a forearm he could grasp. The men’s eyes met as Cullen held him there in place for the span of a few breaths. Hawke smiled. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Cullen replied softly. He then turned to Fenris, handing off the mage’s hand to the elf. “I’m pleased that you appear to have come through that all right. I apologize for the behavior of my peers and those under my command. You have my word that justice will be swiftly served.”

Fenris nodded at him.

Sebastian approached them as Cullen and the other templars headed back into the Gallows proper, pulling with them the other witnesses to the attack to get statements from them.

“Hawke, Fenris, will you both be all right?” the prince asked.

“They will,” Anders answered for them. “I’m taking them to my clinic where I can watch them for the next few hours and double check Fenris’ wound.”

“Could we…perhaps just go to my estate?” Hawke asked. “It’s…too far to Darktown.”

“Understood. Varric,” Anders said, taking out a small pad of parchment and scribbling some notes on it. “Would you please stop by the clinic and ask Amala to bring these to Hawke’s place? He’s the tranquil alchemist with the orange sash that I helped rescue three weeks ago.”

Varric nodded and took the parchment.

“Very well,” Sebastian nodded. “I have to get to the chantry. Elthina needs to know what’s happening. I’ll stop by once I have her sorted into the mess.”

“I’ll round up Daisy and Rivaini, hit the clinic and then meet you at Hawke’s,” Varric offered.

Slowly but surely, Anders, Fenris and Hawke made their way to the stairs that would lead them to Hightown.

And Fenris reflected that not only had every single one of Hawke’s friends pulled together – including a Templar who turned on his own leader because of what had happened – but Hawke himself had saved Fenris’ life with the help of Cullen, Sebastian and Anders…and possibly others Fenris wouldn’t even know.

But even more than that, Garrett had made a lot of confessions in the process. Confessions that, had he not been recovering from certain death, Fenris would have been saying an awful lot more about right now in spite of Anders in between them half propping them both up.

* * *

**THE FOURTH TIME**

For the most part, the fuss had died down. Varric, Merrill and Isabela had seen to Fenris’ mansion, which included bringing back to the Hawke Estate his clothing, most of Danarius’ leftover wine (half of which they took in payment for their services), the books Fenris had been slowly reading as Hawke taught him the finer points of grammar and language some year into their lessons together and one or two other baubles that Fenris had collected during his time in Kirkwall.

Fenris protested, but Hawke lit up like a sunrise, so Fenris frowned and allowed the trio to have their way with his belongings – which somehow found places to be stashed in Hawke’s room, for the most part, save his books, which had been placed upon the newly-appointed Fenris shelf in the family library.

The elf had wanted to return to his mansion last week, after having spent a few days recuperating fully, since the healing required some extra time from Nature to finish knitting all the broken pieces together. Though Fenris hadn’t had much of an appetite, Hawke and Orana had worked out how to squish the food enough that if Fenris consumed it in the same form as babes, he could keep it down. He found this embarrassing, yet neither Orana nor Hawke made any mention of it being odd, leaving Fenris to stew in his own applesauce.

His mind had been reeling, but what with Bodahn flitting about trying to ensure his comfort when Hawke had no choice to be gone for several hours, Orana constantly asking ‘Master Fenris’ if he needed anything cleaned, cooked or mended, in spite of him consistently reminding her that she was in no way subjugated to either him or Hawke and Hawke using his usual bluster to keep more emotional topics at bay, Fenris hadn’t had a single moment to actually speak to the mage about what had transpired during those moments in the Gallows Courtyard which had literally saved Fenris’ life and also, as far as he was concerned, quite literally saved his soul.

It wasn’t until the day of Meredith’s very public trial rolled around that Hawke sheepishly asked Fenris if he was comfortable testifying before Grand Cleric Elthina, whose job it was to oversee her charges and any wrongdoing they did. She would be joined in proclaiming sentence by no one since Meredith had been serving as viscount. The closest thing she had was the “visiting dignitary” Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven, and Garrett Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall. And so Fenris as well as all the other witnesses would face questions from the three of them, two of whom had been directly involved in the incident in question.

Fenris assured Hawke that he was fine, and would happily describe for all present what Meredith’s Templars had done to them that day. Anders was going to be testifying about Karl and both the mages and tranquils that he and the Underground had been rescuing for several years. There were even a small number of mages returning, those who had become apostates simply because of Meredith’s unfair rules and her allowance of brutality. Even Orsino was set to testify.

But it was in the thirty minutes before they had to leave for the Viscount’s Keep that Fenris finally found enough quiet around them, and courage within himself, to address what Hawke had said to him very nearly two weeks ago now.

The clanking of his armor being fastened on ceased as he stopped, sat down on Hawke’s bed – where he’d been sleeping while Hawke used his mother’s bed – and watched the mage enter his own room.

“Garrett.”

His tone of voice must have been odd, for it was enough to stop Hawke mid-stride. The mage looked at him. Swallowed. Looked down at the carpet. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly.

“For what?” Fenris asked.

“For what I said to you when you…in the Courtyard that day.”

Fenris’ heart felt like a falling stone. “Then you didn’t mean it. I…apologize. I had assumed otherwise.” He rose to his feet. “It will never be spoken of again.”

“Wait…what?” Hawke asked, confusion evident on his face.

“Why else would you apologize for what you said, than not meaning it?”

“Oh…Maker’s breath, Fenris, no. No, that’s not it at all. I thought…I…you walked out. Don’t you see?” Tears sprang to Hawke’s eyes. He turned away. “I thought you wouldn’t want to hear how…”

Fenris felt a pain in his chest worse than getting run through by a greatsword. He crossed the room and turned Hawke none-too-gently to face him. “Don’t think you know my mind. Don’t assume how I will react or what I should be feeling or you’re no better than the magisters I escaped from. Allow _me_ to give you my thoughts and feelings.”

“But you didn’t,” Hawke countered helplessly. “You walked out with hardly any explanation save that you couldn’t and that you wanted to be happy and that you felt foolish, but not _why_. You cared nothing for me, for what I was feeling in that moment, for the helplessness,” tears fell freely now, “the desperation, the utter despair that consumed me when you left and I didn’t know what I had done wrong, how I had screwed up so badly the one and only thing I ever wanted.”

Fenris stood there in utter shock. How selfish had he been not to see _Hawke’s_ pain, but think only of his own? For so long he’d been focused on a Master that when he’d ridded himself of that, he’d focused only on his own self, to the exclusion of the man he had come to understand that he could not live without. And yet he’d given him no quarter. Just… _left_.

“I meant every word I said on that cold, hard courtyard stone,” Hawke whispered vehemently. “I love you, Fenris. I have since the moment you walked down those steps into the alienage. When I saw your face. Your eyes. You looked directly at me and I thought…I was going to drown. I couldn’t bear for you to leave me. You are all I have.”

When Fenris’ voice came out, it sounded like a pathetic squeak. “But you have Varric…Anders…”

“They’re my friends. And I love them. But I _love_ you. I’m _in_ love with you. I can’t _breathe_ without you. Andraste’s tits, Fenris, what do I have to do, etch it into my body, wear a sign over my head, shout it from the top of Hightown, for you to understand? To _believe_?”

Fenris reached out, his fingertips gently touching Hawke’s jaw. He’d watched Hawke’s own hands be gentle, not only to himself but to those he healed on the battlefield. He’d heard him whisper, seen that intimate, soft look directed into his very soul. Fenris wasn’t very good at gentle, but perhaps he could learn to be from the man that stood before him, just as he had taught him to read, opening the wonders of the written word to Fenris’ eager mind.

“Hawke,” Fenris whispered, moving forward, hand cradling the mage’s head. “Garrett.” The man leaned into his touch, eyelids fluttering closed. “I felt like a fool. I thought it better if you hated me. I deserve no less.”

“I never could,” Hawke whispered, nuzzling into the palm of Fenris’ hand, yet making no move to initiate touch.

“And it isn’t better. That night…I remember your touch as if it were yesterday. And I’ve had to watch…watch as you touched me, Anders, Varric, Isabela…everyone you heal…with that same gentleness over and over again, feeling every single moment, transporting me back here, to your bed. To your arms.”

“Fenris…” he breathed.

“I should have asked your forgiveness long ago. I hope you can forgive me now.”

Hawke opened his eyes, straightened his body and looked into Fenris’ huge green orbs. “I need to understand why you left, Fenris. For my own sanity, if no other reason.”

He looked down at the floor. “I’ve thought about the answer a thousand times. The pain. The memories it brought up. It was…too much. I was a _coward_.” He looked everywhere but at Hawke, eyes finally landing on the bed. “If I could go back, I would stay. Tell you how I felt.”

“What would you have said?” Hawke asked, hope rising in his mutable brown eyes.

Fenris at last met Hawke’s gaze with a steady calm. “Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you.”

Hawke smiled softly. “I understand. I always understood.”

Fenris closed the space that was left between them, his hands coming up to cradle Hawke’s face. “If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side.”

Garrett surged forward and their lips met. But this time rather than the desperate crashing together of all that time past, the kiss was careful, their lips were soft, their movements were gentle and Fenris slowly allowed his fingers to slide through Hawke’s hair. The mage moaned and sighed and wrapped his arms around his elf’s body, pulling him closer. Their lips parted and their tongues met, sliding easily together as all the tension drained from them both.

A soft knock at the bedroom door, and the clearing of a throat, followed by Sebastian’s, “Ah, excuse me, gentlemen. I’ve come to fetch you to the hearing.” He was all smiles when Hawke and Fenris scrambled to finish putting on their bits and pieces of armor. “I’m happy that’s all sorted out,” the prince smiled.

Fenris felt his ears go hot…the only type of blushing he typically did. Hawke smiled easily. “What’s the mood at the Keep?”

“Hustle and bustle, everyone who’s anyone is trying to elbow in to see what happens. Elthina’s already privately decided to turn command of the Kirkwall Templars over to your friend Cullen.”

“Good for him! If anyone can straighten that bunch out, it’s Cullen.”

“Aveline’s in charge of keeping the peace.”

“Then peace, I’m certain, will be kept.”

“And, uh, Hawke…you need to be prepared for the nobles to make a very specific request of you today.”

“What would that be?” he asked, his shaking hands from Fenris’ heated gaze making him fumble with his chest plate. Fenris smirked, knowing exactly what he was doing to the man who would be having a very good night indeed, if the elf had anything to say about it. So he took pity on him and helped him fasten the plate up.

“They’re going to call for you to take over as Viscount of Kirkwall.”

“Maker’s balls,” Hawke swore. “What for? I kill people with magic, not quill pens.”

“Hey, it was Elthina’s idea, not mine.” As the three men made their way down the steps toward the front door, Bodahn handed Hawke his staff, Sandal handed Fenris the Blade of Mercy and Spirit the mabari asked all of them for some head pats. Which they gladly gave. “Although I will tell you that I’m part of the bargain.”

“In what way?” Fenris asked as Orana opened the front door for them.

“Good luck!” Bodahn called out.

“Good luck, Master!”

“Enchantment!”

“Woof!”

Sebastian, Hawke and Fenris waved at them as the prince answered Fenris’ question. “I gave Elthina my word that if Hawke accepted the position as Kirkwall’s viscount, it would be the beginning of a partnership the likes of which the Free Marches has never seen, starting with you and yours helping me and mine retake my city.”

“Oh, you’ve got our future all planned out for us, have you?” Hawke asked, then laughed heartily.

Fenris all-out grinned. He was beyond happy to hear that laugh for the first time in a long, long time.

Hawke stopped them at the top of the stairs that would take them toward the Viscount’s Keep. “Sebastian, I don’t know if Kirkwall can truly be fixed. But if Cullen accepts the job of Knight-Commander, then you have my word that I will accept as viscount, and that our first act will be providing aid in the form of money and however many bodies we can spare.”

“Ours included,” Fenris added.

Hawke smiled brightly at him, leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. “You’ll help?”

“Of course. Sebastian’s my friend, too.”

“Ours, too,” came the voice of a certain dwarf as he made his way up the steps with Anders, Merrill and Isabel in tow. “Blondie has to testify anyway. You’re up after Curly, aren’t you?”

“Sure am,” Anders smiled. He eyeballed Fenris and Hawke and Fenris couldn’t help but notice the fleeting look of sadness that passed over the healer’s face. But he’d earned this. With a ripped-out gut, he had. And he wasn’t going to be sorry for who Hawke loved, for that was something nobody could control. Not even Garrett Hawke, he imagined.

“All right, then,” Sebastian said. “I think we’d better get to the Keep before Elthina sends out Sister Nightingale to round us up.”

“She’s here?” Hawke asked, surprised.

“Yes. To evaluate for Most Holy.”

“We might very well be averting an Exalted March on Kirkwall if you go the route you just promised to go,” Varric offered.

“No pressure or anything,” Hawke joked.

* * *

The hearing went as everyone had hoped it would. Meredith was unbelievably subdued, as though resigned to her fate. Or perhaps drugged, it was difficult to say. Cullen took over as Knight-Commander. Hawke became Kirkwall’s viscount. Bran moved into the Acting Viscount role as plans were made for Hawke and his group to join the various and sundry armies of both nobles and cities who had pledged Starkhaven their support.

That night, however, belonged solely to Garrett Hawke and the elf named Fenris who discovered, quite belatedly, that his mansion was being fixed up by men Varric had hired, so the elf could sell it. Because he’d be gone for a while on this Starkhaven trip, and with no one to keep it up, it would be condemned within months. He agreed but insisted that the profits were going to go toward an anti-slaver endeavor he would undertake as soon as Sebastian was on the throne where he belonged.

Fenris stood shyly in Hawke’s room, for tonight Hawke would be sleeping here as well; the first time since the elf had come here post-injury. Kirkwall was celebrating. There was partying. There were new-fangled things called fireworks that they’d gotten in trade from some Tal-Vashoth allies who’d remained in Kirkwall since the Qunari’s departure some time back.

The elf had gotten first dibs on a hot bath. Currently Hawke was having his turn. Once he had settled into it, he’d dismissed his staff, encouraging them to go out on the town with bonuses he’d given them for upcoming Satinalia. The dog was to be his three servants’ guard. And…Hawke may or may not have also let Varric know that they would be out and about in case he wanted to help them safely celebrate.

And so the two men were, at last, alone. Alone, as Hawke walked in with only a towel slung low around his hips, torso and hair still wet, a bead of water dripping down his chest, a river between his pectorals that captured Fenris’ attention. He stood breathless as Hawke approached, placed his hands on Fenris’ shoulders and pulled him close. The elf wore only very light, loose clothing, but soon Hawke was gently removing it. All of it. The swish of fabric as the shirt went over Fenris’ head. The soft hiss of cotton as the pants were slid down to the floor.

Eyes met. Gentle hands caressed. “I just,” Hawke said softly. “Can we start with..?”

“With what?” Fenris asked.

“I just…want to hold you…when you’re _not_ dying.” This was followed by a quiet but obvious choked-out sob. “Please.”

Fenris nodded, unshed tears threatening to spill. He crawled onto the bed. Hawke settled next to him, shucking the towel off to reveal he wore no clothing at all. Both naked. Both aroused. Yet both needing something different in these moments than what they knew they’d get up to later.

The mage encouraged Fenris to allow himself the same cradling Hawke had done that day at the Gallows Courtyard. Fenris flashed back to being helpless. Knowing he was going to die. Hawke was flashing back, tears streaming down his face as he cradled Fenris’ head and then pressed their lips together.

“Thank you,” he whispered into Fenris’ mouth.

“For what?”

“Not being done with me.”

Their kiss deepened.

It had taken time. But Fenris – and Hawke – knew true love and tenderness at last.


End file.
